Oina and he now turned to seek safety in flight; but the MacRae caught him by the hook of his long poleaxe, and fearing further violence, the brave Colin clung to his right arm with fierce energy. Duncan tried to shake him off; but in vain. At last, he fiercely _bit_ the hand of the poor boy, who relinquished his hold with a scream of pain. At that moment the savage fellow exclaimed,-- "Wasp of a MacGregor, _that_ will take the sting out of you," and cut down Colin, by a single stroke of his ponderous axe, severing his right (some say his left) arm from his body. Without a moan, Colin fell on the heather in a pool of blood. "Quick, lads, quick!" exclaimed the remorseless Duncan; "drive on the prey; the MacGregors will soon scent the blood and be on our track." At some distance from the bleeding and dying boy, Oina sank upon the ground, screaming wildly, and covering her face with her hands and hair. "What shall we do with the girl?" said one; "she will soon reach and rouse all the clachan." "Take her with us," suggested another. "Oich--oich! that would be kidnapping." "But she is only a MacGregor's daughter," said a third. "And you shall soon be tracked by one MacGregor, who will revenge us," exclaimed the girl, whom excess of terror now endued with courage. "Oich! and who may he be?" asked Duncan nan Creagh, mockingly. "Rob Roy of Inversnaid." "The Red MacGregor--is that all?" "All! Conn Ceud Catha was a boy when compared to him, as you shall soon find, false thief of a MacRae." "A swim in the linn will be good for one of your temper," said the tall Cateran, as he took up the girl, and regardless of her shrieks, rushing to where the torrent that flowed towards Loch Lomond poured over a brow of rock forming a cascade that plunged into a deep pool below, he tossed her in, without ruth or pity. In falling, Oina caught the stem of a tough willow, and clung to it with all the tenacity a deadly fear could inspire. The rush of the foaming torrent was in her tingling ears, and its snowy spray covered her face, her dress, and floating hair, as she swung over it. She closed her eyes and dared not look; but her lips prayed for mercy in an inaudible manner, for the power of speech had left her. And now, with her weight, the willow bent so low that at last her feet and ankles dipped in the rushing water; while with a pitiless frown, the wild MacRae--for so this tribe was named, from their fierce, lawless, and predatory habits--surveyed her from the bank above. Then saying, "Oich--oich, but the Griogarich are folk that are hard to kill," by a slash of his long axe he severed the willow, and with a faint shriek Oina vanished into the cascade that foamed beneath!